


Invictus

by A_Starry_Night



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Starry_Night/pseuds/A_Starry_Night
Summary: Black Jack Randall is more a devil than anyone rightly guesses. Claire is less human than what is immediately assumed. What they fight over is the soul of the very normal human man who Sees them for what they truly are.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Invictus

**Author's Note:**

> This book series has consumed my soul, and I absolutely love it. On that note, I love DG's mystical take on certain things, and of course I've latched onto the fun idea of Claire being one of the Auld Ones that Jamie talks about in the books. Add that to my general hatred and disgust of Black Jack Randall, and this story was born. 
> 
> Fair warning, the rape/non-con tag is there because a lot of this story will deal with the immediate aftermath of Wentowrth. There won't be any active scenes of such but I'm definitely alluding to it a lot.

_Fort William, Scotland, 1740_

The blood was only partially dried as it soaked into the planks below his feet, so heavy it had fallen from the boy’s stripped-open back, and he managed to mop up a decent coating on his finger. It was dusk, the darkness effectively hiding his actions from any prying eyes— and Jack Randall’s life depended on discretion. There would be very little chance of being discovered here, not among his own men, but had not Caesar fallen from Brutus’s dagger because of the trust he placed in a friend?

But Black Jack Randall had no friends to worry about betraying him.

The blood was thick and cloying in his mouth as he licked it off his finger, closing his eyes at its metallic taste and smiling. It was something of ecstasy to imagine what it was like still hot and still alive, thrumming with the heartbeat that keeps the body going.

God, it was all so _divine_.

He wanted nothing more than to dip his fingers once more into the pool at his feet and drink to his heart’s content, but he could not risk such a move. Darkness had fallen completely by now, shading the whipping-stand in comforting night, but he could not be seen here for long.

Anyway, the boy was still here at Fort William; Randall would have another attempt at him. Scottish barbarian though he was, the young Jamie Fraser was as of yet untamed even if he was hurt, marked by Randall’s lashes but not yet under Randall’s sway—and he had yet to find a normal human who could resist his considerable influence.

If nothing else, Jack Randall loved a challenge as much as he had in interest in the faery magic that existed on the fringes of humanity, the dark magics that wove its way into every facet of existence, and he was not one to bend willingly to another.

The boy would be his, his soul Randall’s to mold. There would be no other outcome.

~/~/~/~/~

_London, 1923_

“Do you have her?”

Quentin Beauchamp’s voice rang out sharp and clear in the enveloping stifling quiet; having paced back and forth for half an hour to steady his nerves and heartache he was exhausted but nowhere close to settling with both grief and hope keeping him going. The short figure coming towards him with its distinctive walk down the street waited until he could be heard and then he was nodding.

“There is hope, Quentin,” came the steady reply, and he felt his throat close with relief as the little man pulled back the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. A little girl with a head of unruly dark curls lay slumbering in his arms; her dress was torn and stained with drying blood, but there were no markings on her. Quentin felt the breath catch in his throat; Claire had been in the car with her parents. 

“Was she—?”

“It was already too late for her parents. She would have followed them if I had been mere minutes later.” Quentin’s companion handed her over without resistance, his eyes soft and fond like an elderly grandfather’s as he looked upon the reunited uncle and niece. “She was most grievously injured.”

“Thank the Lord for small mercies,” Quentin breathed, his hands trembling as he clutched her little body to him. “I told Henry that the automobiles are not so trustworthy yet, they should have been more patient…”

“But horse and carriage are none so trustworthy, either, are they?” his companion countered softly. “You know as well as I, after all, the fragility of life and time.”

The sly, knowing tone in his voice made Quentin automatically straighten, his eyes widening. “Is she…?”

“Indeed. She has the ability—and one day she shall use it. _All_ of it.”

Quentin froze. “Very few of us ever dare to do that. It’s much too dangerous! What use will Claire have for old faery magics?”

A secret smile pulled at the corner of his companion’s wide mouth, dark eyes crinkling. “Much more than what you are like to believe, Quentin. Be that as it is, she shall have more than enough cause, and she shall restore her husband’s soul with its use.”

Quentin stood for a long moment in silence. “So she must be taught and disciplined. Prepared for what she’ll find in the past. Taught to hone her abilities.” Long sentences were currently beyond his ability, distracted and grieving as he was, and shocked by the revelation of Claire’s nature. Very few of their bloodline could harness both aspects of their miraculous extended family—most had either one or the other.

“She is already quite talented; her response to my healing was already strong and it shall only grow stronger as she ages.” The little man stood looking at them for another moment and then turned away. “Now, I must be going. I have much more to do, and Claire is in good hands.”

“Raymond.” Quentin clutched his niece even tighter to him, reassured by the feel of her heartbeat. “Was she—will she be... _happy_ , in the past?” He didn’t quite understand why the answer was suddenly so important to him, but he couldn’t entertain the thought that she may have an unhappy life.

The little man turned slightly, just enough for Quentin to see the glint of his eyes and his wide mouth quirked in another small grin. “She will have a hard life, and where I met her… she will face much grief there. But her red man will be there for her—they will save each other.” Another moment of thought. “Yes. Yes, I think she will be happy in the end.”

What else was there to say? Quentin let him go without another word, and he watched the squat little man melt into the grey mist that fell as Claire shifted against him, still sleeping. He felt unaccountably relieved holding her small body against his own—he could protect her still, provide for her. She would wake eventually and Quentin’s heart would break when she realized her loss, but for now she was content, unmarred from the harshness of life. For the first time he could truly give thanks he had journeyed back to the present instead of staying the past, when it meant being able to raise Claire himself.

“You’ll be all right, little one,” he said quietly in her slumbering ear. “You’re with me now, and I’ll see to it you’re taken care of. You won’t ever be alone.”


End file.
